


Mistletoe and Holly

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Christmas-themed J/B smutfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after "New Resolution" but intended as a prequel more or less, so read in whatever order you choose.

Barnabas was irritable and ill at ease, and taking it out on Willie as was far too easy for him to do. "Come along, Willie," he snapped. "We'll be late for dinner."

Barnabas carried a few beautifully wrapped presents, but he well knew that was just for show as he entered the front doors of Collinwood. Willie was carrying the larger, heavier share, and lagging behind as a result. "I'm coming, Barnabas, but you got a lot of loot here. What's so heavy?"

"The telescope for David, I think," Barnabas replied absent-mindedly, trying to soften his tone. Ordinarily the job of wrapping presents would have fallen to Willie, but his faithful servant lacked the care and delicacy that task required. Barnabas had learned the skill from his mother, who also preferred to retain some crucial tasks from her own servants, and he took as much pride in it as she had.

But Barnabas' mind was now consumed with other things, things that terrified him in a way no supernatural force ever had. The dangers of the heart had proved to be much more threatening to him, and he had set out on a mission that at the moment felt like a matter of life and death. The Christmas present he most looked forward to giving carried no weight on Willie's back, but weighed heavily on his mind. They were only three words he wanted to give to Julia Hoffman, if he could find the courage.

"Cousin Barnabas!" Elizabeth met him by the front door, embracing him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas to you, too, Willie."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Stoddard. Awfully nice of you to think of inviting me!" Willie positively beamed, unabashedly happy to be more or less accepted by this family after many years of strain.

"We are very happy to have you," Elizabeth smiled politely. Barnabas knew it was a magnanimous gesture on her part, knowing Willie had no other place to go. She had wanted to have only immediate family at Collinwood for Christmas, as she was preparing to host a rather grand New Year's celebration only a week later. She wanted Barnabas to stay overnight Christmas Eve to be present for the Christmas morning rituals, and kindly invited Willie as well. She ushered them inside. "Come on into the drawing room. Everyone's here. Dinner will be ready shortly."

As he entered the drawing room to more holiday greetings, he saw everyone indeed was there, Roger, brandy in hand, Quentin in conversation with Carolyn and her new husband John, David and Hallie -- but Julia was absent. He was both relieved she was away and anxious to see her. He never did know how to feel where she was concerned, lately.

"David, come take these presents and set them under the tree," Elizabeth ordered her nephew. The teen made a show of annoyance, but clearly he was interested in inspecting the packages to see which were for him. A smile came across his face when he saw that the biggest and heaviest by far was tagged with his name. Elizabeth called over her shoulder as she left, "I'll just see how Mrs. Johnson is coming along."

Barnabas settled into a seat by the piano, declining an offer of a drink from Roger. Quentin smirked and said, "You don't seem the type to have a natural Christmas cheer--sure you don't want to ease that along?"

"On the contrary, Quentin, I feel suffused with the holiday spirit tonight."

"Yes," Carolyn teased, "He makes a show of being severe, but he's really a big softy."

"He didn't fool me for a moment," John laughed. "He cried at our wedding!"

Barnabas inclined his head, accepting the ribbing good-naturedly. He could not deny he had teared up at their wedding, a few months ago. He had been sitting next to Julia at the ceremony and entertaining daydreams about their own wedding--daydreams that were no closer to reality now, because in all this time he still had not found the words to declare himself to her.

"Heyyyy, there she is at last!" Quentin raised a glass as Julia entered the room, smiling and carrying a stack of hastily wrapped presents. Barnabas smiled, seeing even from across the room that they were wrapped with even less skill than Willie possessed.

"I'm such a terrible last-minute shopper!" she laughed. "I just finished this afternoon, and wrapped these five minutes ago."

Barnabas stood to help her, but Willie was already on his feet, clearly more comfortable keeping busy with little tasks like this. Barnabas sat back down awkwardly.

He watched her walk to a seat by the fire. He never grew tired of watching her now. How had he been so blind for so many years? Or had he always watched, without really understanding? He had no way of knowing now. He only knew he had long been a damned fool, and what was worse, was still being a fool. He tried to mask the simple pleasure he took in her long lean legs, her confident stride, but her path crossed Carolyn, and for a moment he met the younger woman's eyes and found them dancing with knowing delight. He frowned, looking away. He was becoming more transparent all the time.

Why didn't Julia see, and call the question, put him out of his misery? Oh, if she did see, he rather expected she'd torment him as much as the rest of them. And he had it coming. But it wasn't easy for him. Funny, he'd always thought of himself as a romantic, adept at the art of love. He had never had a clue.

She could feel his discomfort from across the room, he thought. She always could tell how he felt-- with one significant exception. She caught his eye and smiled, mouthing the word "Hi." It utterly disarmed him. He lowered his eyes and mouthed back, "Hello."

"Everyone," Elizabeth reappeared at the door, her hands clasped at her waist, smiling. "Dinner is served."


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner was a setback, Barnabas couldn't help but feel. It had begun when he had deliberately avoided a convenient seat next to Julia, which he thought she had noticed and was hurt by. He didn't feel up to being so near to her with everyone else looking on. That's what took so much out of him. It was easier when they were alone. It was always wonderful when they were alone. Even if they did not share everything he hoped they would, they were closer than they had ever been, practically inseparable when she wasn't busy at Wyndcliffe. But together in front of everyone, he felt the pressure of their gazes, regarding them as a couple, and feeling rightly like a couple, but knowing they were not a couple. 

And he needed time to collect his thoughts, go over what he wanted to say to her, which he couldn't very well do while he was constantly distracted by the flash of her legs crossing under the table, the scent of her perfume floating above the culinary aromas... He couldn't sit by her. But if he could succeed in getting his thoughts straight, he would explain it all to her soon.

He was silent and moody all through dinner, unable to focus and doing a poor job of masking it. Shielding himself from the sight of her legs didn't stop his mind from deciding for himself what they were up to on the other end of the table. What is wrong with me? He cursed himself silently. One hundred and seventy-five years of pent-up frustration ought to drive a man insane. It probably had.

Well over two hundred years, come to that. What did his youthful conquests amount to, really? A few servant girls who might as well not have been there at all, a few showgirls who frankly terrified him. One who had damn near ruined his life, and the nights they shared together had hardly been worth it. But he would have gone to hell and back for one night with Julia Hoffman now. 

But there could never be one night with Julia Hoffman. That, too, was his trouble. In all his life he had never been with a woman he cared for. And truth be known, he had never cared for anyone half as much as he cared for her now. The stakes were awfully high with her. Worth it, but he was aware he stood to lose everything if he were to lose her.

"Well?" Carolyn's sharp interjection and an equally sharp jab to his side had recalled him to the table. "Will you or won't you?"

"I'm sorry?" He almost choked.

"Pass me the green beans? Honestly, Barnabas, I don't know what has you so preoccupied tonight!"

As he reached for the dish, he caught Julia's eye momentarily, smiling at him wickedly, then turning away discreetly. Did she have any idea?

Once dinner was over, mercifully, the children retired to their rooms and the adults to the drawing room for some of Roger's eggnog. The others filed in ahead of them in twos, Carolyn and John canoodling, Liz and Roger arguing about the breakfast arrangements, Quentin reaching out to Willie to put the nervous young man at ease. Julia appeared to be hanging back on purpose, giving him an opportunity to approach her. His heart began to race as he realized this could be the moment. If he just did it, without thinking, just blurted it out, it would be over and done. And then…

"Julia." He stopped her in the foyer, reached out to her, grazing her arm lightly with one hand, which he did not remove after she turned to face him. "Julia, I have to talk to you."


	3. Chapter 3

"What is it, Barnabas?" Julia looked up at him with simple curiosity, colored by concern about his distance and distraction all evening. Her face was not expectant, nor was it teasing. He had to admit to himself that she did absolutely nothing to make this harder on him. Somehow, that made it harder still.

He knew before he began that he would chicken out once more. He panicked; his mind raced for an alternative subject. He blurted out, "Would you accompany me to Elizabeth's New Year's ball?"

Her eyes lit up, and his insides were a jumble. "Oh-- Barnabas, I'd love to." She bit her lip, tried to swallow the smile that crept around the corners of her mouth. He raged at himself, kiss her, take her in your arms now, you idiot, how can you doubt her, look at her… But he said,

"Only because you and I will both be there anyway, and neither of us has anyone else to attend with."

Her expression did not change in response to this cowardly explanation, but he saw how it hardened rigidly on her face, as if it required a great effort to maintain. Her smile registered as a grimace. She nodded, said softly, "I know." She pulled back a little. He had forgotten he was holding on to her all this time. "It will be a nice time."

She flashed him another smile that cut clean through him like a dagger, and turned to join the others in the drawing room. 

"Where's this eggnog Roger's been going on about all week?" she exclaimed, and was met at the door with a large glass and a peck on the cheek.

"Mistletoe," Roger pointed above the door frame. He winked playfully. "I was ready for you." He had another glass in hand for Barnabas, trailing a few steps behind. "I was ready for you, too, Cousin, but you don't get a kiss. Now don't disappoint me, you have to drink at least one."

"After you've disappointed me so, without a kiss?" Barnabas decided he'd have to fake it, before the night turned into a total disaster. Maybe Quentin was right and he did need to help his Christmas cheer along.

Quentin had something to say about that, too. "Oh, I'm sure you'll have your chance under the mistletoe before the night is over, Barnabas." Julia, deep in conversation with Liz and Carolyn, did not hear or notice Quentin's obvious inclined eyebrow in her direction, or chose not to.

The eggnog did help things along, Barnabas had to admit, although he limited himself to the one. If there was to be another chance to get Julia alone, if he could be that brave, he wanted to be alert enough to seize it. But he found himself simply happy to be with these people he loved, sharing stories and telling jokes by the fire. He even began to relax with Julia, falling into their usual comfortable manner of communication, verbal and nonverbal, to hell with what anyone else thought of it. He saw her relax too, in response. Perhaps that was the key. Don't force it. Let it happen. Meanwhile enjoy just the sight of her.

Quentin cornered him at one point, looking over his shoulder to assure himself that everyone else was deep in conversation. "You know I look out for you when I can, Barnabas."

Barnabas smiled wryly, wondering what this was all about. "Yes, I know you do."

"You've done so much for me, after all. Listen, I was thinking about the New Year's ball, and it suddenly occurred to me, I'm not sure if you're familiar with a little custom they observe in this time at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve."

"In my time, there was a legend that the first person you come into contact with after midnight foretells your fortunes for the coming year."

"Yeah, but you _kiss_ that person, Barnabas." He raised his eyebrows significantly. "Just looking out for you. Just wanted to let you know you'd better find someone to kiss so you're not left out in the cold." 

Barnabas' stomach lurched -- but why? Didn't he plan to tell her long before that? New Year's at midnight was hardly likely to be their first kiss. He said, trying to maintain an even tone, "I've asked Julia to attend the ball with me."

"Oh, that's all right, then," Quentin laughed. "What could be safer than kissing your good friend Julia Hoffman at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve? I was worried for nothing."

Still laughing to himself, Quentin rejoined the group.

Barnabas excused himself and went to the bathroom. He stood there for some time, just regarding himself in the mirror. It was one landmine after another tonight, and he was walking right into each one. He had laid them out for himself. Fool. Damn fool. How hard was it, really? He had been living with it, breathing it, knowing it for certain every moment of every day for months now. "I love you," he said under his breath, to no one. It was simple enough. "Julia, I love you."

When he returned to the drawing room, he almost ran right into her. Julia laughed and backed off. The family behind them erupted in a mixture of laughter, catcalls and cheers. Barnabas was confused. Julia looked mortified.

"You're not running off to bed yet, Julia!" Carolyn cried.

"I told you your chance would come, Barnabas!" Quentin cried.

"Oh, please," Liz scolded them all, but looked just as eager to see what would happen next.

Barnabas looked to Julia for the clarity he could not expect from the others. "Mistletoe," she said simply, shrugging.

"Kiss her!" They shouted.

He was loath to do it for their benefit. But then again, didn't it make it all a lot easier? He found he was not so terrified, now that he had no choice in the matter. He was not terrified because it didn't have to mean much -- and yet it would. He would know it. And she would know it. The terrible part was that they would know it separately, alone.

But for the moment, they were not alone. It was another trial they had been subjected to that they would see through together. He smiled slightly, just enough to let her know it was all right. He wanted to see her mentally take back that shrug, that feigned indifference. He wanted to see that she was open to him. She returned his gaze evenly. He held his ground.

What had Roger done, what was acceptable? A peck on the cheek. Innocent enough. His head descended slowly, an eternity it felt like, until he was closer to her than he had ever been before, close enough to smell what was under her perfume, the scent that was unmistakably her; close enough to hear her heart beating, to feel it -- he felt more deeply aware of her than he had ever been of anyone even while he possessed the powers of a vampire. His lips brushed her cheek, the cheek that faced away from their leering audience. It was not a peck, but perhaps it would look like one. His lips lingered there, feeling the softness of her skin, feeling the soft little hairs move under them as his lips glided toward, but did not quite meet, her own. He felt her surprised exhalation of breath warm against his skin. And then he pulled away.

They all clapped and appeared to be appeased. Julia realized she had been clutching Barnabas' forearm and disentangled herself. She seemed to be unable to look at him in the eye now, but if she was unsteady, only he recognized it.

"Good night again, everybody. And merry Christmas!" She withdrew from the room and hurried up the stairs without a backwards glance.


	4. Chapter 4

Not long after, the rest of the family retired for the night. Elizabeth led Barnabas and Willie upstairs and showed them the guest rooms she had prepared for them, Willie in a small room at one end of the hall, and Barnabas in a slightly more nicely appointed room at the other. Barnabas realized at once that this room adjoined Julia's. Some part of him wanted to protest, but how could he? And anyhow, what did it really matter?

Barnabas settled into bed, disappointed. What did any of it matter, anyway. He had wasted several perfectly good opportunities once again. Already he had wasted so much time they could have spent together, when he was too stupid to realize what he wanted. That couldn't be helped now. But now that he did know very well what he wanted, it was wrong, wrong to put off making it a reality. Or at least, offering her the chance to make it reality. That was just why he stopped dead in his tracks time and again. He just couldn't be sure, and he was afraid. He was a coward. He turned over in bed angrily, loathing himself.

His thoughts turned inevitably where he did and did not want them to go, to what did and did not soothe him. Laying on his side on one end of the bed, he imagined Julia's thin frame stretched out in the empty space before him. He imagined reaching out to touch her, the feeling of her warm, soft skin, the shiver that might run through her when he did so. He imagined the devilish smile that would at once invite and challenge him. He imagined her snuggling close to him, her body perfectly formed against his, filling his empty arms and the emptiness inside him. He imagined the taste of her, her lips opening to welcome his, her tongue playing with his, her teeth nipping at him playfully.

He sighed, rolling onto his back, wishing the thought away tonight. He always ended up feeling unbearably lonely when he followed these thoughts out to their conclusion. He could almost trick himself into believing she were there, and he had his release like clockwork, but nothing could substitute for having her really with him when it was all over, to hold onto all through the night. Now, especially, to have her so close to him in the next room, but as unreachable as ever, he didn't think he could stand it.

Slowly he became aware of a faint squeaking sound. He didn't understand what it was at first. It could have been just the house creaking, except it began to come more regularly. Surely with Mrs Johnson about there wasn't a single mouse on the estate, or anything of that sort. Concentrating on the sound served at least as a distraction from the thoughts that maddened him. After a while, focusing on it had almost lulled him to sleep. Until suddenly he jolted awake, disturbed and frankly excited to think the noise could be Julia-- He could barely complete the thought in his own mind. Was Julia, in the very next room, right now really--?

He tried to picture the layout of her room and realized her bed did indeed abut the same wall as his in the next room. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Should he stay here, listen to this? He couldn't hear anything but a faint squeak; he couldn't even be sure. Anyway, how could even a single wall in mighty Collinwood be so thin? He tried to remember what the rooms had originally been intended for; the walls must have been built this way for some purpose. He supposed they were intended to be two guest rooms, with the intent that some visiting parents could keep an ear on their children or something of the sort. He knew his father had built the house with all sorts of clever, practical thoughts like that in mind.

But he wasn't concerned with architecture. The squeaking was becoming more regular, louder. There was no mistaking it for anything but a box spring getting some good use. Was he shocked by the thought of it? Not shocked, he thought; awed perhaps, as he often was by the daring and assertive way she took care of things herself. He had never thought particularly of a woman doing this, but he reflected that it wasn't a far leap from what he did almost every night now. He knew he'd never given a thought to a woman's pleasure at all, before Julia. Was he really still so old-fashioned? He laughed at himself for not having thought of it before. It might have helped things along now and then.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. He was unmistakably aroused. He was helpless to stop it now. He resumed his vision of her next to him where it had left off. Now on his back, he visualized her slowly slithering atop him, that devilish smile on her face again. She kissed him teasingly. She kept pulling back just as their kiss began to intensify, pausing to caress his face, or unbutton one pajama button carelessly, before dipping back down for another kiss.

He shook his head, scrubbing his face with both hands. Was it terrible to go on this way? It was a kind of invasion, a selfish and perverse thing to do. Maybe he should find a book, god any book, and read in the study for an hour or so. His pajama top was indeed unbuttoned. His hands moved to his chest where he imagined hers were. He couldn't stop now if he tried. Could she be imagining him right now, too?

The mere thought drove him crazy. He exhaled loudly again, then halted, listening-- surely the walls were too thick for that at least to be heard. The squeaking paused briefly, then resumed. A coincidence. He put it out of his mind. His hands were at his pajama bottoms now, one pushing them down just far enough, the other already massaging his painfully hard cock. The thought of her mere feet away giving herself pleasure was unbearably exciting. He stroked himself lightly, finding his rhythm.

In his mind's eye, she had eased herself onto him, taking him in slowly and completely, throwing her head back in abandon to feel him hard within her. Something deep inside him lurched as he substituted her warm, wet slit for his own hand. She was riding him confidently, slowly, altering her pace to keep him on edge, now leaning forward to stroke his chest and kiss him, now leaning back to take him in without distraction.

His own mattress was squeaking now. He tried to be less vigorous than usual, but he was overwhelmed; he couldn't control himself. She would be too distracted by now to notice, surely. In fact, the noises from her own room had become more pronounced; oh god, he thought desperately, now that's the headboard pounding against the wall.

He stroked himself harder, faster; she was still on top of him but he also imagined her in the next room. He wondered what she did to herself, what she liked. He wondered what she thought about, and if their closeness earlier had put this need in her as much as it had in him. He wondered if he could bring her as much pleasure or more if he joined her right now.

He heard her moan through the wall. He could not have imagined it; he heard her moan, but the noises of the bed continued. She was not satisfied. He longed to hear her moan again for him, say his name, her breath hot against his skin. He couldn't stand it. He was on his feet, grabbing a robe, throwing it on carelessly as he ran to the door. He only needed it if he should happen to run into anyone in the hall in the few feet he had to cover to get to her door. No one was there. 

He knocked on her door and called softly, "Julia?" 

She paused for a terrifying moment, he could not know whether in fear or anger or what. Finally she called back uncertainly, "Barnabas?" 

"It's me," he blurted roughly, his hand still on his dick, just maintaining his erection. 

"Come in," she said. 

He heard the urgency in her voice and did not hesitate.

He found her dressed only in her robe, open around her body and falling off one shoulder. Several fingers of one hand were inside her. She withdrew them as he stood there before her. He withdrew his own hand and closed the distance between them swiftly. He joined her on the bed in a heartbeat, he was on top of her, he was inside her. They had both worked themselves and each other up into such a state of arousal that it would not last long, but it felt wonderful, and he would enjoy every moment of it. He thrust into her deeply, unable to slow himself down. She did not seem to mind, bucking violently underneath him. He buried his face in her neck as he felt his release surging through his body and into hers, and absorbed her own contractions into his body. "I love you, Julia," he breathed into her hair. "Oh, god, I love you."

As the effects of his orgasm faded, he released his hold on his cock and the pillow he had gripped for support. He was alone. It had felt so real, the object of his love and desire was so close, but he was alone. All was quiet now, in both rooms. He felt unbearably lonely, and thought again about joining her-- how disastrous would that be? She was alone, too, and he didn't want her to be. She was alone, and he could change that. He was the cause of both their unhappiness. He was miserable. And he knew very well he would not act.


	5. Chapter 5

He rose slowly, putting on his robe, with far less energy than he had imagined doing so a few minutes ago. He walked to his door and opened it, pausing; he would have to pass her room to reach the nearest bathroom. No matter, he told himself; he could hardly hear anything new now. As he approached her door, it opened, and she also stepped out into the dark hallway. Not seeing him at first, she almost ran into him, and pulled away quickly with a nervous laugh.

"Pardon me," he said softly, pulling away himself. He was embarrassed to see her so soon, uncomfortable to be so near to her. She clasped her robe tightly around her neck. It was a characteristic gesture, he knew, but he wondered if she didn't feel the same way.

"No, no, I'm sorry." She was having trouble meeting his eye. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Were you going to the bathroom? I'll use the one at the other end of the hall instead."

"All right."

That was settled, but neither made to leave. She looked him square in the eye finally and smiled. It unnerved him, as it always did now. He used to be able to stare her down. He had lost that ability when he began to really see her.

"Haven't you been able to sleep?" he asked, searching for something to say but immediately regretting the absolute dumbest thing he could have settled on. He winced, but she had already looked away, and he hoped did not notice.

The question made her nervous and visibly embarrassed. "No, I-- wasn't feeling very tired after all. You?"

He waited until she looked up at him again, then said earnestly, hoping she'd understand, "I feel exactly the same as you." Where did that bit of daring come from? Why couldn't he seize the moment to complete the thought?

She smiled and moved a step closer, placing one hand gently on his forearm. How he lived for her little touches! He felt like beaming, but he kept his face impassive, allowing a slight friendly smile. "Well, I hope you fall asleep soon. You'll need your strength tomorrow."

Perhaps, if he could only open his mouth to speak, he would need his strength in more than one way... He was frozen in place, feeling it impossible to resist taking her in his arms when he told himself this was not the time, then feeling it impossible to declare himself when he told himself to just seize the moment. Why did he war with himself this way? She was closer still, somehow, and he didn't remember how that had happened, who had closed the distance. They were drawn together magnetically. He could smell her now, her familiar calming scent, mixed with something new and musky and it excited and terrified him again. She did not expect him to act, but she appeared to be open. Why did he worry about her reaction? And yet how could he be sure?

"Well," she broke the moment. It could not go on forever. "Good night, Barnabas." She squeezed his arm and released him.

"Good night, Julia," he croaked. He was still frozen. Time was passing without his consent or participation.

She turned and walked away down the hall. He watched her go. He could still say something, he could reach out to her now and make everything clear and right. He could perhaps say something now to stop them from having to return to two separate cold beds for another long night alone. He could hold her all night, perhaps, if he could find the right words. "Julia," he called, with a desperation she may or may not have heard. She turned instantly at the sound of his voice, a receptive calm about her. He choked again. "Merry Christmas."

She nodded, smiled, and disappeared into the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Barnabas was the last person in Collinwood to arise, very unlike him. Once he had finally drifted off, he fell into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep, and no one had the heart to wake him. He joined the family in the drawing room, everyone gathered around with mugs of coffee in hand and presents at their feet. There was an empty seat next to Julia on the settee. He chose a chair across the room instead.

"Good morning, Barnabas," Elizabeth greeted him cordially.

"You sure slept well," Carolyn teased.

"After a fashion," Barnabas rejoined, meeting Julia's gaze and finding it unreadable. 

David, master of ceremonies, brought Barnabas' pile of presents to him and laid them at his feet. "Now," he said with a mock formal air and broad gestures, "We begin. YOUNGEST to oldest."

It took nearly two hours for the family to open their presents, taking the time to show them off, express their gratitude, and exchange stories. It was the happiest he had ever seen this group of people, and he was truly grateful to have them all with him, safe and happy. They were all so dear to him, and it reminded him of the Christmas mornings of his childhood. If he couldn't have the one thing he wanted most for Christmas, this was, truthfully, enough.

All the while his mind was on Julia, a steady hum that was with him always, but pronounced now with the awkward memory of what they'd done last night. In a way they had shared something, and yet he felt more desperately alone than ever. She may or may not have known that they shared anything, may not have been aware of what he was doing, or understood that it was largely started and facilitated by her. Would she look at it the same way? Did it even have anything to do with him, as far as she was concerned? He couldn't tell last night, and he couldn't tell this morning as he stole an occasional glance at her, a jolt of agonizing delight racing through him on the occasions when her eyes met his. What did she feel?

He received many fine gifts from the family, and knew he looked like a sentimental fool as me became visibly emotional over the cuff links, ties and trinkets; he was so moved to be a part of this family and this time that he could not help it. Julia's gift to him was a volume of poetry. She explained she had spent days in rare book stores to find just the right one. She did not explain, but he did see that she had marked one page in particular. He would look at that later. Whatever sentiment that poem expressed, he knew he would be overcome to read it now. He met her gaze and thanked her sincerely, but kept his emotions under control. In the balance, he was afraid she would interpret his reaction as being much less moved by her gift than the others.

The group disbanded shortly after, as Carolyn and John left to spend the afternoon with his family. Barnabas sent Willie back to the Old House ahead of him with the presents, except the small volume from Julia, which he had tucked into his coat. He ought to be a bit kinder to him on Christmas, but he needed a moment alone with Julia. He resolved not to ask Willie for anything the rest of the day.

He caught her as she was about to go upstairs. "Julia," he called, and she stopped at the first step. He touched her elbow gently and wordlessly guided her to a corner at the back of the foyer. She complied. The rest of the family seemed content for the moment to stay in the drawing room, and he knew why. Their expectations conveyed a confidence in him he did not deserve.

"What is it, Barnabas?" She stood near to him, a clear, penetrating look on her face. If she only knew how nervous that made him, perhaps she would have a little mercy. Or even a little less--whatever it took.

"I didn't want you to think I had forgotten your present, but I was concerned about giving it to you in front of the family. It may seem a little extravagant." He withdrew a small box with a simple red ribbon around it from his pocket. She took it, handling it delicately. Did her breath catch in her throat as she understood what it must be?

"Oh, Barnabas, you really should not have--"

"They belonged to my mother, and I wanted you to have them. It really is not an extravagant gift, but all the same, they are meaningful to me."

She regarded the simple pearl earrings for a long moment, blinking furiously. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were a bit wet. "Thank you, Barnabas."

"They were among her favorites, and in my memory she's always wearing them. Their elegance reminds me of you, too. And I wanted you to know--" Damn it, he was starting to become emotional in spite of himself. "I wanted you to know that you really are part of my family, too. Dear friend," he added, helplessly. What stopped him from adding, and I love you? or, and I want you to become a Collins officially?

"They're beautiful Barnabas, I can't tell you what that means to me."

That makes two of us, he thought wryly.

She went on, grinning ear to ear, "I'll wear them to the New Year's party. They'll be perfect."

"Nothing would please me more." That wasn't true. A lot of things would please him more. But it could start with that. The New Year's party: he would tell her then. No matter what it took and if it killed him, he would tell Julia he loved her on New Year's. He might have to get drunk out of his mind to muster the courage, but he would do it.

"My gift doesn't seem very much next to these," she said, closing the box and setting it down on the table.

"Your gift came just as much from the heart, and I will treasure it as well."

"I marked a poem that-- I think you'll particularly like," her voice caught; she seemed suddenly nervous. "I didn't want to mention it in there-- the way things were going, I was afraid they'd make you stand up and recite it."

"Thank you for that," he laughed with her, then added seriously, "and thank you for the very thoughtful gift."

He took her arm lightly and they walked to the door. "Will I see you before the party?" he asked.

"Yes, I hope so."

"Would you join me for dinner at the Old House, Wednesday perhaps?"

"That sounds nice."

They stood in the doorway smiling at each other. It would be so simple, and then it would be done: kiss her, he said to himself, kiss her, kiss her.

"Goodbye, Barnabas," she said. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Julia." She was disentangling her arm from his. She was walking away. He was letting her go again. Fool! No: New Year's was the perfect time. He would tell her on New Year's.

He stepped outside into the crisp winter air. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he pulled the book from his coat, and flipped to the page she had marked. It was a short poem by Emily Bronte that read:

 

Love is like the wild rose-briar,  
Friendship like the holly-tree—  
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms  
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,  
Its summer blossoms scent the air;  
Yet wait till winter comes again  
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now  
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,  
That when December blights thy brow  
He may still leave thy garland green.

 

He held the book against his chest when he finished, blinking back tears of his own she would not see. Yes, their relationship was that of the steady, true holly; she had been the strongest, most dependable, dearest part of his life for a long time, in good times and bad. Once, he would have needed this reminder; now it was only a deep truth put more beautifully than he could ever express it. He must make sure that she understood that: that if she was the holly, he appreciated her completely, now and always. And that he loved her like the wild rose-briar, but it would not prove to be so fleeting as the others. He needed her to be both to him. She was the constant love of his heart and his one dear friend. He would make sure she knew it. He would.


End file.
